


Law & Order

by esstiel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cops & Robbers AU, Drabble Collection, Gen, Kind of set in modern times?, M/M, Sort of? if you squint a little i mean, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, cullrian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esstiel/pseuds/esstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Tumblr Prompt</b>: How about good old cops and robbers Cullrian style with Dorian being the theif/robber? Sheaking into Cullen's place to steal a priceless artifact but instead steals his heart. Oh God that last line sounded better in my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Law & Order

**Author's Note:**

> Written in my askbox so if there are errors, soz. Find me on tumblr @esstiel.

When it comes to Val Royaux, the chance of your wealth being stolen from you through outright theft is practically zero. Some would think that amassed wealth would be a risk in itself, but such is not the case; the Orlesians care much more about political wealth than how much gold someone has hiding under their mattresses. Because of this, its extremely rare for robberies to occur in the richer districts and neighborhoods of Orlais capital city, only really becoming an issue to guard against in the slums, alienages, and other ‘lower class’ areas. 

So when artifacts begin disappearing from museums and the homes of the rich and politically famous, it takes the city templars a total of 12 hours to scramble a crime unit specifically charged with catching whoever’s running off with everyone’s baubles and dust-collectors. 

Cue Cullen, commander of the newly created investigation unit, standing in his living room, arms crossed and lips pursed as Leliana attempts to convince him through his ear piece, again, that putting a replica one of the most priceless Dalish artifacts in his fifth-floor apartment is a good idea. 

"This is a perfectly reasonable plan—"

"A plan concocted two hours ago after drinking four pots of coffee," Cullen interrupts.

” _A perfectly reasonable plan_ ,” she repeats, stressing each word, her patience clearly thinning. “There’s cameras and recorders covering literally every inch of your flat, and we’ve… obtained your neighbors apartments for surveillance and backup. It’s not like you’re in any  _real_  danger.”

Cullen rolls his eyes and sits on his couch, leaning back into the plush cushions, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “It;s not danger I’m concerned about,” he says. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself against an attack. I’m more concerned about whether or not this thief is actually going to come. Why would they come for a fake?”

His eyes slide over to the forgery, an orb made of what seems to be stone, carved with intricate designs that trick the eye and give him a headache if he looks too long.

"We’re the only ones who know its fake," Leliana replies. "It was transported here with every bit of security pomp and circumstance. Anyone keeping an eye out for artifacts would have to be stupid to resist breaking into an apartment to obtain it, compared to mansions and museums. Trust me when I tell you they’ll come."

Something about Leliana’s confidence is enough to mollify and Cullen finally tucks his suspicions away in the back of his mind and lets the operation play out.

It turns out letting the operation ‘play out’ involves him watching TV, cooking dinner, and playing a few rounds of chess online, all the while ignoring Leliana’s commentary about how he obviously needs to get laid.

It’s three in the morning when Leliana finally allows Cullen to rest, promising to keep an eye on him while he slept so he wouldn’t wake to any surprises. But he’s far to tired to bother moving from the couch where he’s sprawled out, remote in hand as a crappy infomercial plays in the background, so he simply drops the remote on the floor and closes his eyes.

Cullen’s barely dozed off when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise, his skin prickling, and a lifetime of templar training screams at him to  _open his eyes._

His eyes snap open, and he’s staring straight into a pair of grey eyes, and the owner’s face is mere inches from his own.

Naturally, he yells. Well, shrieks really, but there’s no evidence to prove it and he’s loath to admit it. Cullen rolls off the edge of the couch and falls into a crouch behind his coffee table, arms already raised to defend himself.

The intruder—a male, Cullen notes—straightens from where he’d been leaning over the arm of the couch, his mouth curling into a Cheshire-like grin, almost matching the curl of the dark mustache above his lips. The flickering light of the television casts unearthly blues and greens against the mans darker skin, revealing a strong jaw, high cheekbones and meticulously styled hair. Cullen can’t help but think of the man as incredibly attractive, and had they met in less illegal circumstances, he would have considered chatting him up. His attire—all black, tight on the chest and legs, but exposing his shoulders for some reason—blends almost seamlessly into the shadows cast on the wall behind him.

"Ah, gorgeous eyes to match a gorgeous face, as I assumed," the man says, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Despite the position, it was clear that he was prepared for a fight by the way he balanced delicately on the balls of his feet, the way his knees were bent just enough to keep the legs in his muscles fully engaged, ready to fight or flee.

His words were enough to bring a faint blush to Cullen’s cheeks, and he rises from his crouch with a frown. Where was Leliana? Where was his backup? Cullen glances at one of the hidden cameras.

"Video loop," the man states, clearly satisfied with himself. "Easy enough to accomplish considering how woefully primitive your setup is. Voice communication is down, too, so I wouldn’t bother." He shrugs and runs a finger along his mustache, curling the end of one just so.

"I see." Cullen stands up straight and lets his arms fall to his side, still ready to defend against an assault but relaxed enough to keep his muscles from cramping from the constant tension. Something tells him this man isn’t one for frontal assaults, though. Or in general. He had a perfect opportunity to take Cullen out while he dozed, but passed it up to preen and compliment himself.

 _Either he’s a complete imbecile, or he’s_ really _good._

The thief pushes off the wall and walks to the replica artifact, picking it up off its stand and tossing it in the air a few times. “It  _is_  a masterful duplication, I will give you that,” he murmurs, setting the sphere back down, and the look he shoots over his shoulder at Cullen makes a blush rise to his cheeks again. Cullen resists the urge to rub at the back of his neck.

"If you knew it was fake, why come?" he asks, and the way the man quirks his brow at the word ‘come’ makes his face get even hotter and he shifts his feet uncomfortably. 

"Because I wanted to see who exactly it was thought I was stupid enough to fall for a forgery." The man sighs. "It’s a pity you can’t have intelligence  _and_  dashing good looks.” He lets his eyes wander, blatantly looking Cullen over from head to toe, then back again.

Maker, what was with the flirting? This wasn’t the time for flirting! Cullen made a noise in the back of his throat, half disgust and half laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The thief begins to wander and Cullen moves as well, keeping the coffee table between the two of them. It’s barely any sort of protection, but it’s enough to satisfy.

He blinks at their changed position, realizing the other man was slowly circling around the room until he had the living room window at his back, with Cullen on the other side of the room by the kitchen. He feels like a moron.

It’s almost as if the other man was waiting for the lightbulb to turn on above his head because suddenly he’s sitting on the window sill, leaning back to carefully hang out the window. “Well, it’s been a pleasant evening with you, my dear Commander, but I’m afraid I have further business to attend to.” He waves one arm in a mock bow, somehow keeping himself delicately balanced with the other. “And thanks for not yelling for your friends next door, I appreciate it.”

And then he lets go, falling out the window with barely more than a whisper of cloth.

Cullen makes no attempt to catch him; he’s too far away to do anything useful bit stand and stare at the window stupidly. Plus, he fell with the confidence of someone who had a contingency plan to keep himself from making a splatter painting of himself on the street below, so Cullen wasn't too worried about his safety.

Finally, he shifts his feet, and the lack of tension and danger makes it much easier for him to notice his half-hard dick pressing against the zipper of his jeans. “Makers tit,” he curses under his breath and he sighs, adjusting himself before heading for his front door, into the hallway, and knocks at the neighbor’s door where Leliana and her crew are set up.

While he’s questioned (and yelled at) by Leliana and his team, the one question repeats in his mind. 

Why hadn’t he yelled for help?

The answer is clear, though Cullen doesn’t want to admit it, to himself or anyone else

Because he was curious, and now he’s downright interested.


End file.
